Collecting plant specimens had been the cleric’s hobby. He had not been a botanist. Yet, the specimens he so neatly organized gave evidence of his full appreciation of God’s creation.
Edwin wondered if he had a scientific mind like that of the botanist, Joseph Banks. Would he enjoy spending the rest of his life studying the natural world? Should he be a farmer, or a doctor? If he wasn’t the son of the Duke of Dalfour, he would be allowed to become anything he wanted.
He abhorred killing other men. War was a horrible waste of human life. Though the Duke had refused to buy him a commission, even if his father changed his mind, which he doubted, he would now decline the offer.
A low moan came from the dining room. Edwin started, his pulse jumped and he slid behind a cupboard, a very poor hiding place. The man knocked out by his companions must have come to. Edwin barely breathed as he listened to the drunkard stumble about in the other room. The front door of the inn slammed shut. Had the man left?
Weariness descended upon Edwin with all the weight of a yoke pressing down on his shoulders. He peered into the tavern room. Blood lay on the table and red droplets trailed along the floor to the door. Chicken bones and empty tankards had been tossed down on the wide wooden planks.
Latching the door, he trudged up to the second floor again to rest upon an empty bed. He fell asleep the moment he closed his eyes, but what seemed like a short time later, persistent pounding sounded below. Still groggy, he went to the window and looked out.
A group of people stood gathered in the yard: women, children, and men. Under the sycamore tree he saw a man tying together the hands of an unconscious gentleman with a bloody nose. A second fellow threw a rope over one of the tree limbs and proceeded to skillfully wind the end of it into a noose.
Were these Loyalists, Patriots, or a crazed mob? He saw only the tops of their heads.
Before he ducked back inside someone noticed him and called out.
“There’s the one who dragged Colleen out of the fire.”
“Edwin! Offnen!” Hobart waved.
Grateful for the sight of a familiar face, Edwin headed downstairs, but before he reached the bottom step, the Newtons awoke and opened the door. They apologized for the mess left behind by the marauding Loyalists.
“They got one of ’em,” a tall man said as he walked into the taproom. “They’re going to hang him on the sycamore.”
Mistress Newton let out a gasp of horror and turned as white as her hair.
“Now, now dear. I’m sure they just mean to scare the fellow.” Mr. Newton led his wife to a chair and patted her hand.
“You know those Zimmer boys,” said the tall man as he trooped in with his wife and children in tow to the room where Colleen lay. “They’d be happier if he was a British soldier, but one less Loyalist would be a boon as well.”
Edwin swallowed hard. The Zimmers might hang him, too. Yet, he had to speak his mind. “This is a solemn occasion. We are mourning the death of the McGowans’ dearest friend.”
What kind of civilization held both a hanging and a wake in the same place on the same day?
“Please go outside and tell that to the Zimmers,” Mr. Newton begged as he waved smelling salts under his wife’s nose.
Edwin clenched his teeth.
Aunt Sally and the twins walked in the door. “Where are my nieces?”
“Sleeping.” Edwin rubbed his face.
“The sun came up hours ago!” Aunt Sally commented brusquely. “I can see I’ll have to take over the kitchen. This is a disgrace.”
Why did the king bother with these people? Let them have the entire continent. They were all insane, Edwin thought.
Some of the crowd, mostly men, stayed outside.
“Please, try to get them to listen to you. You are the McGowans’ cousin.” Mr. Newton had a worried look as he handed his wife a glass of spirits. “Drink it all down, m’dear.”
Edwin limped into the room where Colleen lay on her bier.
“We cannot have a hanging outside the window while the unfortunate Miss O’Toole lies here. I am a cousin of the McGowans, but those men carrying out the hanging will not likely listen to me. However, if all of you join me, I’m sure we can convince them to move along and leave us to mourn in peace.”
Everyone stared at the floor.
“The Zimmers ain’t likely to listen to us either,” one man noted in a quiet voice.
“We may intimidate them with greater odds,” Edwin challenged.
“I’ll come with you, Cousin Edwin.” Margaret appeared at the door of the room. “I’m not afraid of those bullies.”
“Thanks, Margaret.” Edwin appreciated her vote of confidence. “Join me everyone.”
He walked out. Surprisingly, the crowd followed. He figured they hoped to witness a violent altercation.
Under the tree, the Zimmers had the drunken man lying in a stupor at the end of a wagon with the noose circling his neck.
“Can’t you wake him up, Zeb?” whined the one brother. “It ain’t gonna be no fun if he don’t dance around a bit.”
Edwin stood at the back of the wagon. “Stop this travesty of justice immediately.”
The Zimmers laughed.
Edwin clenched his jaw.
Mr. Newton came up alongside and pleaded. “We’re holding a solemn wake today, boys. It isn’t right to have a hanging at the same time.”
“This man is a Loyalist. He has refused to sign an oath of allegiance!” the taller Zimmer brother growled.
“How can he write when he’s dead drunk?” Edwin asked.
“If he gets away, he’ll come back with more Tories, sail up the river, take our livestock, and kill our people.” The tall brother narrowed his eyes. “Somebody has to pay for all the damage.”
Edwin leaned over the side of the wagon and slipped the noose off the drunken man’s neck. “Let your courts decide his punishment.”
“What do you think you’re doing?” The shorter Zimmer brother grabbed for the rope. Edwin quickly yanked the other end and threw it up to a higher branch. It dangled out of reach.
“This Tory is an enemy of our country!” the tall Zimmer shouted.
“You may have cut your ties to England, but you must not dissolve mens’ rights as well,” Edwin fired back. “Hanging him without a trial marks you as uncivilized barbarians.”
“We are at war!” the shorter man thundered.
“Then trade him for one of your own soldiers,” Edwin suggested.
“He is a worthless, drunken lout. No one would want him.” The shorter Zimmer spat on his intended victim.
“He is drunk, yes, but do you know who his father is? Or his brother?” Edwin challenged. “For all you know, he is the son of a baron and worth at least three or four of your Patriot soldiers.”
The crowd let out a gasp and nodded in agreement with Edwin. Meanwhile, he wondered how many soldiers the son of a duke was worth. Still, he was only the youngest son. That had always been the problem.
The two brothers’ faces hardened. “Who are you?”
Edwin heard the threat, but he reminded himself that this was a time to act with decorum not with a brawl. He answered in a mild tone. “I am the McGowans’ cousin.”
“On our mother’s side,” Margaret added with a note of daring in her voice.
“Let the man sleep it off, boys,” Mr. Newton put in. “We can lock him in the shed until the sheriff gets here.”
Some in the crowd thought this to be an excellent solution, at least for the moment. Several volunteered to hoist the sleeping man out of the wagon and carry him off to the shed to sleep.
The Zimmers sneered, but since they were outnumbered they stepped aside and allowed the sleeping sot to be borne away.
“We’ll be wanting our rope.” The shorter brother glared at Edwin.
“We have a ladder in the carriage house,” Mr. Newton suggested.
The Zimmers stalked off to get it.
“There! You have to stand up to bu
llies.” Margaret smiled at Edwin. “Agnes taught me that a long time ago.”
“I would not have been so brave if you had not joined me.” Edwin’s heart warmed toward the child. Still, he reminded himself that the McGowans were not his family, though they treated him more kindly than his own kin ever had. His brow clouded as he remembered his intention to be a spy. To use his relationship with the McGowans to infiltrate the community, discover the ringleaders, and end the rebellion. Still, he had no idea whether he would be able to get back to his company. Worse, he feared the reception he would get if he did rejoin them.
The men who had carried the drunk to the shed returned. People began filing into the inn for the wake, but the sudden and unexpected blast of a nearby pistol startled them. A hush fell over the crowd. Some of the men ran behind the building to see what had happened.
Edwin’s heart sank. Discharging a pistol, that close, did not bode well.
Everyone waited in silence for the news. It did not take long to receive it. The drunk had been shot dead. The Zimmers had not been spotted, or anyone else for that matter.
Edwin bowed his head. Until he had come to this country, he had not been a prayerful man, but in this lawless environment he found himself with no other recourse.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Agnes awoke with a start when an explosive blast shook her from her vague dreams. The sun was well over the horizon and Margaret no longer lay beside her. Alarm clawed at her as perspiration beaded on her forehead. Her breath came quick and sharp.
Tucking her hair under her cap, she rushed out into the hall, but the inn held an eerie silence, which heightened her anxiety. She crossed to the room where Colleen lay, silent and cold.
Trembling, she opened the panel beside the fireplace and peered into the darkness of the secret cupboard. Afraid to call out, she stepped inside. Edwin wasn’t there. Dread rose in her throat. Where had he gone?
She ran to the tavern room, which lay in complete disarray. Dirty dishes sat on the tables. Chicken bones and tankards had been tossed to the floor. A small pool of blood darkened one table and a stream of red droplets led out the door.
She choked back a scream of fright and dashed outside. An oddly quiet crowd stood gathered by a wagon under the old sycamore next to the road. A noose swayed from a limb on the tree. Edwin stood below the rope with his hands behind his back and his head lowered. At his side was Margaret.
For the first time in her life, Agnes fainted.
* * *
Agnes woke in Edwin’s arms as Margaret hovered above, wafting the stinging aroma of smelling salts under her nose. She gently pushed her sister’s hand away. “What…has happened?”
“You fainted.” Worry lined Edwin’s features.
“Are you all right now?” Margaret appeared ready to cry.
Agnes patted her hand and nodded. “It…was the shock. Why is a noose in the tree?” Her dry lips barely moved.
“Do not trouble yourself over that.” Edwin’s voice, though still raspy, took on a soothing tone.
She frowned at him. A noose hanging on a tree was not an everyday occurrence in Leedsville. Neither was a murder, she thought with a shiver.
Mr. Newton came into sight. “Here, a dram of whiskey should help.”
Edwin brought a glass to her lips. “Sip this.”
Annoyed with him for telling her nothing, she asked, “When did you become a doctor?”
“I learned what little I know from you.” His tender expression warmed her more than the liquid fire in the whiskey.
“Aunt Sally told me I must sit beside Colleen.” Margaret wrung her hands.
“Yes, you go along. I will collect myself in a few minutes and join you.” Agnes waved her sister away. Glancing around, she noticed the crowd had dissipated. “Tell me what happened,” she demanded from Edwin.
“With Margaret’s assistance, I tried to show them the error of their ways.” One side of his face lifted in an attempt at humor, but something deeper lay behind his light banter. “She has a surprising amount of pluck.”
“Were they going to hang you?”
“Do you think you can stand?”
She pressed her lips firmly together. Why was he being so obtuse? “They intended to strangle somebody with that noose.”
“Yes, but Mr. Newton and I managed to convince them that it would be better to let him sleep it off in the shed.”
“Who?”
“One of the Loyalists who had barged into the inn.”
“Did I hear a pistol?”
He winced. “Yes, somebody decided to shoot the poor sot instead.”
She let out a gasp. “Who shot him?”
“Nobody saw who did it.”
Agnes pushed herself up. “Stop trying to coddle me. Colleen was murdered, our house was burned, someone was almost hung, but instead he was shot. What is happening?”
A thundercloud descended on Edwin’s brow. “You live in the midst of an uncivilized horde of philistines. No one is safe.”
She glared at him. “Kind and generous souls live in this town.”
“A few of them are not so benevolent and should be locked up in an insane asylum.” He used the crutches to get to his feet and extended one of his bandaged hands to help her rise.
Despite his infirmity, he pulled her up as if she weighed no more than a dozen of Margaret’s raisin cakes.
“Are you still lightheaded?” he asked as she gazed up at him.
An odd mixture of adoration and annoyance mingled inside her. Shaking her head, she lowered her eyes. Could he gaze into her soul? Staring at him caused her to be muddleheaded and clumsy.
They walked to the entrance of the inn. Still shaky, she did not want to face everyone yet. Women passed out all the time, but until now she never had. She believed herself nearly invincible from that weakness. She spent hours wielding a hammer as a blacksmith. She bent iron and fashioned it into useful tools.
Only vapid fools fainted. Or so she had thought.
“I will sit here a little while and calm myself.” She pointed to the bench next to the door. “You may go inside.”
“I will stay with you.” He sat beside her.
“I am still trembling,” she admitted.
“I know.”
“When I did not find you in the secret cupboard, I thought the worst. Then seeing you under the noose…” Her breath caught in her throat. She did not say another word for she feared she would betray her emotions.
The pressure of his hand increased to a soft, reassuring squeeze, as if he intended to lend her some of his energy. Surprisingly, it helped. Perhaps simply the warmth of his touch is what I need, she thought.
“When you collapsed, you frightened us all, and I feared Margaret would be the next to fall, she was so upset about you.”
She lifted her chin. “I will never faint again.” Her strength had always been a point of pride for her.
“Your house burned to the ground, the woman who raised you died, and you got very little sleep last night. Did you eat at all?”
She nibbled on her lip. She did not recall the time of her last meal. Had it been before the fire? “You needn’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.”
“Stay here. I’ll be back.” He rose.
“I simply need some air.” She took a deep breath, but that did not stop her knees from trembling. Emotion bubbled up and she feared he would hear the high note in her voice, which she found impossible to disguise.
“I will tell you everything when I return,” he promised.
While she waited, she noticed a steady stream of people walking around behind the inn to where the shed and the unfortunate victim would be. Nausea rose in her stomach.
Edwin soon sat beside her. A few women followed him and heaped the plate on his lap with everything from bread to cheese, along with some fine sweetmeats.
“That is far too much for any one person to eat,” Agnes stated.
“Good. You’ll help me.” He picked up a
great slab of cheese, placed it on a thick slice of bread, and handed it to her. “Take a bite.”
She did. She had not realized how hungry she was until that moment.
After she had swallowed several mouthfuls, he began to fill her in on the events. His imitation of a ghost would have been amusing if she had not known of the weapons the men carried. His daring hoax could have gotten him killed.
“You should not have taken such a risk,” she chastised. “They carried muskets with bayonets.”
“I limp far faster than a pigeon-eyed man.” One eyebrow rose dangerously.
“Do you think the Zimmers shot the Loyalist in the shed?” They did not take well to being crossed, but a big difference existed between murder and a foolish prank. Would the brothers have gone that far?
Edwin did not answer her question. He rose from the bench. “You appear much restored and should join your sister now.”
She brushed crumbs off her apron. “Did the Zimmers take the horse?” she whispered.
“Hobart is inside. I will ask him to check on Swindle with me.”
Agnes did not argue with him, for she should be with her sister and all the neighbors who had come to the wake. She stood, but before she entered the inn, she turned to him.
“You are correct in claiming no one is safe.” The tightness in her chest would not leave her.
“We have peace between us. Is that correct?” He smiled and her heart whirled.
“Y-yes,” she faltered.
“That is all you and I need worry about.” He left her.
She reminded herself that he would soon be gone forever from her life, but her spirits, already heavy and grieving for Colleen, sank lower. Sighing, she lifted the now empty plate and went inside to take her place next to her sister. They had lost Colleen, but they still had each other. Could they ever hope Colleen’s murderers would be brought to justice?
* * *
Edwin fought to dismiss the tender feelings he had for Agnes. He must not allow himself to become involved with her, though he owed her his grateful thanks for the kindness and care she had given him. However, he planned to rejoin his company. He must do what was honorable despite the consequences.
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